


Lost Voice

by Tripping_on_Daydreams



Category: Markiplier Egos, markiplier - Fandom
Genre: Could also be seen as friendshippy, Fluff, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, I mean it's the Host he's always bloody right, Mentions of Dark's pajamas, Sickfic, Slight blood/gore warning, The Doctor is oblivious, The Host is pining, this is my first fanfic in years pls be gentle
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-31
Updated: 2020-12-31
Packaged: 2021-03-10 22:47:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,167
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28461132
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tripping_on_Daydreams/pseuds/Tripping_on_Daydreams
Summary: The Host catches a cold and loses his voice, leaving him blind as well. When Dr. Iplier comes to his aid, the two sick egos find comfort in each other among the chaos that is their lives. Inspired by the writings of a_nonny_moose so only a few other egos are mentioned.
Relationships: The Host/Dr. Iplier, sorta
Comments: 4
Kudos: 17





	Lost Voice

It had started with a tickle in the back of his throat. A slight scratchy feeling that was quickly remedied by a subtle cough to the side. The Host muffled the clearing of his throat behind his hand and continued on with his broadcast in front of his microphone set up, looking to quickly move past the interruption with his continuing narrations. As the harsh winds of December whipped at the windows of Ego headquarters, bringing with it a dry chill and an ever graying sky, the Host put it all to the back of his mind knowing the walls of his recording studio were entirely soundproof. His library, lit only with a few stray candles among the towering labyrinth of bookshelves, held a certain comfort and warmth in its solitude. 

Around an hour after the Host had wrapped up his broadcast for the evening, he found himself doubled over in an attempt to catch his breath. The beginning of his day had passed as normally as ever without interruptions, and yet here he was in front of his typewriter caught in a fit of coughs and gasping for breath. The thick, gravelly coughs shook through his bones and rattled through his chest, bringing with it the feeling of something thick and wet working its way up his throat. Disgusting. Where had this come from so suddenly? As he sat back against his desk chair, breathing a few deep breaths into his aching lungs, the Host only now realized the pounding pressure behind his eye sockets, sinus cavities irritated at the severity of his coughing. His head, now beginning to feel heavy and full with mucus, left him with clouded, miserable thoughts and the realization that he was obviously catching a cold. 

He turned back towards his desk from where he had bent over the side of his chair, now facing his half-completed page of writing, before deciding that the thoughts were no longer coming to him as easily now with this newfound distraction. In a last-ditch effort to get back to his writing, as the Host hated more than anything for his work to go interrupted, he tried to will the thoughts into being through the power of his voice. His fingers found their place over his braille keys, and rested there in wait. He cleared his throat, now more of a chore than before through the accumulating layers of mucus draining into his throat, and summoned power into his voice.

“The young man struggled to catch his breath, crawling through the mud on his hands and knees towards the light. As he turned his gaze skyward in desperation he felt… he felt….” The Host’s fingers hovered over the keys, fingertips ghosting across the raised bumps as he attempted to maintain his focus. But as he spoke, it was impossible to ignore that his words lacked the crisp clarity they’d always had. His diction was instead muffled by the thick slime gluing his words together and stopping up his sinuses until he was forced to breathe through his mouth. As if this wasn’t bad enough, a sudden sneeze tore itself from his body and sent even more of the gunk flying across his desk and all over the sleeve of his tan coat, raised just a second too late in an attempt to contain the germs. 

_That’s it,_ the Host decided, feeling a flush rise up through his cheeks, whether from irritation at the situation or from the growing illness, he couldn’t quite tell. Obviously he wasn’t getting any more work done today, and he was only becoming more frustrated by the minute at this interruption. With a sigh he stood from his desk, draped his now dirtied coat along the back of his chair to be cleaned tomorrow, and made his way to his bed to rest for the evening. His gravelly narrations guided him through the stacks of books and papers with a little less ease than normal, and it was only now that the Host began to ponder his situation as a whole. He climbed into his sheets realizing that he had never been sick before. In fact, he didn’t think that figments could even get sick at all.

As he rolled around in an attempt to get comfortable, a thought rose in the back of his head, a recent memory of seeing the Doctor sniffling a little just a few days before. It was easily ignored at the time, but it now had the Host thinking. Were the Egos becoming more human? Sure, the Googles had certainly become more amicable within the past few months as their popularity grew online. Their once cold and artificial personalities and tendencies to keep closed off from the other egos had seen almost a complete turnaround. Now the brothers, as they were more easily seen as such rather than clones of sorts, laughed and interacted among themselves and the others seamlessly. Dr Iplier had seen a shift in his bedside manor since Markiplier TV aired, eventually moving on from blunt, emotionless diagnoses in favor of spending more time explaining treatment options to his patients instead. Even Darkiplier was seen out of his room more frequently as of late, simply observing the other egos in an almost protective manner. It was as if all the attention and head cannons of their millions of fans was beginning to affect their personalities. That seemed to make sense, the Host supposed as he began to drift off to sleep, as the fans had just as much of a hand in their conception as Mark. It was only thanks to their continuous theories that they were able to keep living in the first place. This was the last conscious thought the Host had before he fell into a dreamless sleep.

When he awoke the next morning, everything was dark. Everything was normally dark for the Host, until he began his stream of narrations to carve out his environment in his minds eye, that is. But unlike any other morning, today the words never came. The Host had awoken in a pool of his own sweat, his face gummed up with sweat and mucus and crusting blood, as he had skipped his nightly bandage change in Docs office. He felt utterly disgusting, and the pounding pressure in his head had only seemed to worsen. He would kill for a hot shower right now. But as he swung his legs carefully over the side of his bed and cleared his throat for the oncoming day, something didn’t feel right. He cracked open his chapped lips through a film of dried saliva and set to begin his narrations, but all he was able to summon was little more than an exhalation of air, dry and hollow. Confused, he tried again, but it felt like he had a wad of gum stuck in his throat, and the words that strained to escape around it were broken and hoarse. This wasn’t right at all, he couldn’t even form a single word. Again he tried with even more force, but his voice only cracked and wheezed and the syllables died on his lips. 

He couldn’t speak. 

He couldn’t see. 

This was a problem. 

\---

Dr. Iplier had been running himself ragged. Cold and flu season always brought him an influx of patients, but it seemed the biting chill of this winter’s winds had been especially unforgiving. The doctor had been booked full for weeks, only recently beginning to see a slight decline in cases, but even so his clinic stayed active. Today was no different, and although he himself was battling a head cold, he continued to put his patients first. The day came and went rapidly, the doctor only breaking briefly between clients with cups of coffee in favor of meals and containing his sniffles as best as he could. Finally it was closing time for the clinic, left to tend to a list of new patients in the morning, but for now the doctor could finally rest. 

Dr. Iplier wiped the sweat from his brow as he locked the doors to his clinic for the evening. He made his way into the kitchen to see what he could scrounge up for dinner. A quick peek in the fridge should show him his options. Though the kitchen was empty, he could hear commotion coming from the living room, sounds of beeping and cries of defeat in what sounded like a video game being played. If he had to guess it was Bim and the Googles. A sudden cry of “FUCK YOU GUYS!” followed by a glittery pink knife flying through the doorway, however, told him that Wilford was in on the fray too. 

He chuckled to himself, grateful for this strange sense of normalcy that permeated their office with life within their bizarre family, and content with this change of pace from his rigid, sterile office. As he turned and opened the fridge, he saw that someone had made a pot of soup and saved the leftovers. He gave a silent thanks to whichever kind soul thought ahead enough to do so, that was one less step he had to take to get some food in him fast, as he hadn’t eaten all day. Sitting next to the soup, however, he noticed a tupperware from last night full of stir fry with the Host’s name on it. It had become customary to save the Host leftovers for whenever he left his room, which was often sporadically and when no other ego was likely to be roaming the halls. And yet here it was, still untouched after a full day. Had the Host not come out of his room since yesterday? 

Dr. Iplier supposed that it wasn’t unusual for the Host, as the reclusive ego would sometimes spend several days at a time locked up in his room, fully absorbed in his work. And yet those days had been happening less and less frequently as of late, the more the Doctor thought about it. Come to think of it, the Host hadn’t come around for his nightly bandage change either. Though it took a great deal of convincing on the Doctors part, the Host had eventually come around to the idea of letting the Doctor handle his bandages, and with time the routine had become almost therapeutic for the both of them. The brief reprieve from their busy days gave the egos some time to talk, or simply to sit in content silence. It gave the Doctor peace of mind knowing his friend was being cared for, and whether he admitted it or not, the Host enjoyed the company, as well as the feeling of going to bed with clean, dry bandages. In his own exhaustion of the previous afternoon, the Doctor must have overlooked his friend’s absence. 

A part of himself told him that the Host was fine, and was likely just taken by a burst of writing inspiration that was sure to keep him away until he eventually tired himself out. An even bigger part of himself, however, still held its doubts, and flashed images of possible worst case scenarios in Dr. Ipliers mind. A quick check up wouldn’t hurt, right? He tried to put his concerns to the back of his mind as he scooped some leftover soup into a bowl and popped it in the microwave. The worst the Host would do is yell at him for interrupting his work, but even that would be a promising sign that all was normal. Besides, such outbursts really weren't all that uncommon in this building anyway, he thought. 

Dr. Iplier made his way down the hall and stopped in front of the Host’s room. At this hour the Host would likely be working on a novel, as his radio broadcast always ended at the same time each evening. Hoping he wasn’t intruding too much, the Doctor knocked on the door. 

“Host?” he called. “I brought you some dinner.” He paused, but heard no response. Not the abrupt halt of clacking keys, no shout to leave him alone, nothing. He tried again. “Host?” 

The Host had no idea what time it was, but he was sure that nearly a full day had to have passed by now. He had been curled up all day sneezing and shivering through fevered, clammy skin, and still unable to utter a word. He hadn’t left his bed, his mattress and sheets being his lifeboat of safety in the empty sea that was the rest of his room. He could hardly navigate his surroundings, let alone the rest of the building without his Sight, and there was no way in hell he would let the other egos see him in such a pathetic state. He simply had to wait for his voice to return to him. Yet as the hours passed, his throat only grew more and more dry, while the mucus in his head unrelentingly continued to flow. The sound of other egos galavanting through the halls barely penetrated his walls, and the howling wind outside gave him no indication of morning or night. The Host had fell in and out of a fitful daze all day, unaware of when he was awake and when he was dreaming, his thoughts overlapped in a sticky haze as he rolled around restlessly. His pillow was damp with sweat and caked with blood and mucus, and if the Host had cared a thing for his physical appearance he would say he must have looked god awful. Every now and then he would try and test his voice, only to be met with creaky syllables that never quite reached his moving lips. Otherwise, the only sounds that reached his ears were his own wheezing breaths. 

Until, he heard a knock.

“Host?” _Knock knock knock_ “Host I brought you some dinner.”

How long had he been out to warrant a concerned ego to check up on him? The only egos to bring him food were the Googles and Dr. Iplier, and judging by his persistent knocking, the Host was willing to bet it was the latter. Had the Host been able to speak he would have called out to him, told him he was fine and to leave him alone. He didn’t want to be seen like this. And yet, if he had been able to say these things, he wouldn’t have been in this predicament in the first place. The knocking continued, and the Host surmised that if he didn’t respond soon, he was likely to end up with a broken down door, courtesy of the Googles and one concerned Doctor, fearing the Host had finally worked himself to death. 

He contemplated throwing a stray book at the door, hoping the noise would give the Doctor the hint to leave, but he knew anything thrown would never make it that far through his labyrinth of bookshelves. It seemed as though there was only one option then.

With a resigned sigh the Host gathered his strength and flipped himself upright, pausing for a moment to let a brief wave of dizziness pass, until he could stand on his feet. Using the side of the bed for support, and then the nearest wall when he could reach it, the Host carefully guided himself forwards. He tried to call upon the image of his room in his mind. He was so used to navigating his room by now that he practically knew every turn by heart down to the number of footsteps. However, the scattered stacks of books and discarded papers strewn across the floor still proved to be an obstacle, and the slight vertigo he was feeling was doing no favors for him. The imprinted images of bookshelves and narrow passages flickered in his mind through a fog of thoughts all muddled together by his head cold, but none of the images stuck around for long. Just when he thought he had his hand on the correct bookshelf, he turned a corner and walked smack into another one.

He rubbed his sore nose, taking with it some of the slime still leaking from his face, and wiped his hand unceremoniously on his pants. He felt around the book shelf, fingers feeling deftly around the spines and covers until he reached the end of the shelf, and popped back out into the main walkway of his room. Only now, he was turned around. Which direction had he come from? He could hear the Doctor still trying to call out to him from outside of his door, and used it as a guide. He only prayed that the Doctor wouldn’t leave until he was closer. 

His hands splayed out in front of him, the Host gingerly felt around for obstacles and tiptoed carefully. Occasionally toeing a stray book here and there, sometimes stumbling over a stack entirely and almost losing his balance. The low light of the few candles still burning offered no help to his empty sockets, but eventually he managed to find his desk and typewriter. His coat was slung on the back of the chair where he left it. Halfway through, then. He took another step forward with a little more confidence this time, and immediately slipped on some papers in the floor. He fell forward with a loud thud that shook his desk and caused a pile of books to fall on top of him, and caused a candle on his desk to topple and roll into the floor, dangerously close to the papers by his feet.

The Host rubbed a spot where a rather large encyclopedia had landed on his head, but was able to get to his feet among the books piled at his feet. Once he was sure that what he was stepping on was the floor and not a misplaced dictionary, he continued onwards.

Dr. Iplier was about to give up on reaching the Host for now when he heard something fall behind the door. 

“Host? Host are you okay? What’s going on in there?” How he wished he could just open the door and see for himself, but the ego was insistent on leaving it locked. His soup was going to get cold at this point but now the Doctor was struggling to hide his concern. Had the Host fallen? Was there somehow an intruder? Just as he was about to call out again, he heard shuffling not too far behind the door, and it sounded to be getting closer. Why was he moving so slowly? Normally Dr. Iplier had only seen him move at a swift pace in order to continue his writing as quick as possible. Did he get hurt somehow?

He raised his hand to knock again but the door was jerked open before contact was made.

“O-oh my!” Dr. Iplier almost dropped the soup in surprise as he was quickly met with the Host’s sour expression, hunched over and covered in a variety of bodily fluids. “Host! You look horrible…what happened?”

Truly, he did. He was looking deathly pale, even for the Hosts standards, and his bandages were long overdue for a change, being they were so saturated with blood that they had crusted over into a horrid copper color draped across his face. Excess blood was smeared across his cheeks and down his neck onto the edge of his plain white shirt. His signature tan coat had been discarded, somewhere, and he was left in his more casual shirt and jeans, which were both damp from a cold sweat. His entire face was coated in a thin film of sweat and his nose was red and puffy and dripping. His hair was a matted mess, sticking up in every direction with the pale golden streak fraying out into the rest of his hair messily. The Host leaned against the door frame unsteadily and simply shook his head at the doctors question, seeming almost too exhausted to hold himself upright. The doctor scanned his face for any injury but could see little past the mess of caked blood, but judging by his clothes it seemed that the Host had simply had a rough 24 hours. The doctor placed a hand on his shoulder and looked at him firmly.

“Host, I need you to--” 

Just then, looking just past the Host’s shoulder Dr. Iplier saw something flickering in the background. Orange sparks floated through the air a ways behind the Host, faintly illuminating the damp hair that clung to his neck. More sparks followed from an unknown source, as well as blackened flakes of something charred. 

Fire.

“Oh shit!”

Without thinking the Doctor rushed in, shoving the host into the hallway where he just managed to catch himself on the far wall. The Doctor ran in the direction of the flickering light, weaving between bookcases as the stench of smoke began to grow and tiny embers floated through the room. He had only entered this far in on a few occasions and definitely did not have a mental map of the place. He was only hoping he was making the right turns. _‘I think it was a left here? Or do I keep going straight? Shit! Think! I have to hurry before everything starts burning!’_ In his haste to find the source of the fire he rounded a corner too quickly and crashed into a small table piled high with unfinished works. The bowls of soup he forgot he was clutching flew from his arms, and somehow landed directly on the flames. Dr Iplier looked up at the Host’s writing desk and the pile of books beside it that were beginning to char, and was astonished to see that the soup seemed to cover the largest area of the flames, quickly extinguishing over half of it already. But the edges of the books continued to flake away into burning embers, and the remainder of the fire was still burning away. He quickly got to his feet, ignoring the dull pain in his shins from the fall that were sure to bruise later, and tore off his coat. He flung it onto the books and held it down as best he could to suffocate the rest. When he saw the glow of the embers fade, he moved on to the next area of books, until all that was left were ashes of charred paper. He stamped on the last of the embers until they were out, and glanced around him to make sure nothing else had ignited. So far everything looked clear, though the stench of burned paper was sure to linger for a while, and his pristine white coat now had a very obvious char covering the back. After this he was definitely going to have a talk to the Host about the fire hazard that was his room, and maybe look into getting some extra fire extinguishers. He could only hope that his friend wouldn’t be disapproving of his methods of prevention as he glanced at the pile of sopping wet books, but better wet than ablaze, he supposed. The doctor coughed into his hand and collected the soup bowls, and met the Host again in the hallway even more confused than ever.

“Host what the hell is going on? Your room almost caught on fire!”

The Host was still holding himself closely to the wall, but looked up in confusion at the Doctors words. He opened his mouth to try to speak, but still no words came out above a hoarse whisper. He coughed dryly in his hand, and doubled over when it turned into a harsh coughing fit, and the Doctor was at his side in a second, helping him to stand. 

It seemed that he understood immediately.“Oh my god, Host do you have laryngitis?” he patted his friends back as he rode through the end of the coughing, and the Host could only nod sadly. “How long have you been like this? We should get you to the clinic, at the very least I can get you cleaned up.” He shifted his weight to let the Host lean on him for support and guided him through the halls slowly. Thankfully at this hour most of the other egos were already in their rooms for the evening, and those that weren’t were often preoccupied. He thought of Wilford and Bim in their studio working day and night to get Markiplier TV off the ground, and hoped that for one night he wouldn’t have any more surprise house calls because someone dropped a stage light on their foot, or had a knife embedded in their ribs. For now the Host was the one in need of his attention. 

They shuffled to his office without issue, and Dr. Iplier unlocked the door and guided the Host into a chair by his examination table while he prepared his equipment. The Host sat miserably sniffing and shivering among the medical supplies as he listened to Dr. Iplier mumbling to himself listing off the necessary tools as he grabbed them.

“Alright,” said Dr. Iplier returning, and hiding a sniffle himself, “ready to go. Turn your head please,” he asked as he prepared a needle with a clotting agent to temporarily stop the Host’s bleeding, allowing him to clean his eyes. The Host patiently complied, by now far used to their routine, though he appreciated the guidance of the doctors voice nonetheless, especially in his current state. 

The sting of the needle in his neck hardly registered to him anymore, and though he was sure of the injections affects, tonight he was unable to tell when exactly the blood ceased its flow through the wads of soaked, crusted gauze. After a moment Dr. Iplier carefully set to work on unwrapping them, taking care to peel those directly touching his face off much more gently as the accumulated grime would no doubt add to the discomfort. Seeing the Host in such a pitiful state only made the Doctor more concerned for his reclusive friend. He knew the Host never wanted to be looked down upon in such a way, but it couldn’t be helped when he already looked so helpless. Instead he tried to focus on helping his friend recover, and taking solace in the fact that he could provide some much needed companionship in this rough time.

The last of the bandages were reluctant to peel away from the Host’s cheeks, stuck beneath layers of sweat and blood. From here the Doctor could feel the heat of fever radiating from his skin, apparent by the deep blush over his cheeks.. Once they were done here, he had a few meds in mind to suggest to the Host to help him combat this. Finally, after some light scrubbing with a damp cloth, the last of the gauze came loose, and Dr. Iplier could clearly see what he was working with. Without the bandages to hide his ghastly stare, the Host was honestly quite a horrifying sight. Yet the Doctor was no stranger to gore, nor his friends bloody gaze, and he set to work in their routine, gently swabbing at his cheeks and making idle chit chat. 

The Host sat patiently as Dr. Iplier softly worked around the empty cavities, blood congealed into the folds where damaged skin remained peeling and dampened from steady blood flow. He listened with contentment as the doctor described his patients of the day to him, lingering on the more lighthearted anecdotes he felt he could arise a smile from.

“I just couldn’t believe this woman,” he said, “I mean, people will believe anything they read on the internet these days, no matter where it comes from. She honestly thought that sniffing pepper every day would help her to prevent a cold, and then she comes to me because shes sneezing more than usual!” he chuckled. “I tell her, ma’am, while it is flu season, I hope you realize that pepper is often used to instigate sneezing, not stop it!” The Doctor leaned away from the Host as he giggled more to himself, before going quietly back to his work. “Seriously, just because it pops up on Facebook doesn’t make it true, people. I’m willing to bet that was just someone’s version of a prank.”

The Host smiled at the Doctor’s story, listening as best as his tired mind would allow as it threatened to drift away every few moments. He had nothing to add to the tale, even if he were able to. Instead he sat still as the Doctor now took to wiping off the streaks of blood from his neck and jaw, along with the dried mucus across his nose as he flowed into another story. It felt a little silly, the host thought absentmindedly, as he relied on the Doctor to wipe him down like a child. But this was normal to them, it was routine, this moment of reprieve from their constant work flow to simply exist in each others’ company with no other obligations, and he was grateful. Grateful for the quiet understanding between he and the Doctor, grateful that he didn’t ask questions, grateful for his feather light touches that were grounding, yet soothing. He could feel his friend’s cool breath on his clammy skin as the Doctor leaned in to wipe under his jawline, and it sent a shiver through the Host which he blamed on the cold. He didn’t know of any other ego in the house that be willing to do all this for him. Nor did he know of any other ego he would trust to.

“Aw man, and then I had this one older man, you couldn’t tell him anything I swear-”

The Host stopped Dr. Iplier with a hand on his shoulder, interrupting the doctor’s story. Doc paused and looked at the Host seriously, wondering if something was wrong, or he was being too rough in his scrubbing. Instead, the Host just squeezed his shoulder lightly, nodded his head and mouthed the words ‘thank you’. Dr. Iplier smiled. 

“It’s no problem, really. You know I never mind doing this for you.”

The Host squeezed his shoulder again with a little more force. _No really, thank you, Doctor._

The Doctor understood, and felt his heart warmed at the sincerity. Knowing that he was the only ego in the office that was this close to the Host filled him with a slight sense of pride, and he treasured their friendship and this time together. It felt almost intimate, the way he sat so close to the Host and brushed the cloth against his face with the lightest of touches. Though he had never admitted so aloud, the small, repetitive motions were soothing for the Doctor, the way that stroking a sleeping pet was, and he found it to be the perfect way to unwind from his busy days before getting ready for bed. Understanding the Host’s gratitude only made it even more worthwhile. 

He quickly finished cleaning the Hosts face and applied fresh bandages in silence, his heart feeling a little lighter now after his heavy day. After a final overview Dr. Iplier stepped back with a satisfied smile. 

“There you go, all cleaned u- _…a...aaachoo!”_ A sneeze shook the Doctor and almost caused him to jump from the force. The Host turned his head in his direction and pointed at him in question.

“Me? Oh I’m fine,” said Iplier as he instinctively headed to the sink to wash his hands. “I’ve just got a case of the sniffles is all. It’s definitely the time of year for it,” he said offhandedly in an effort to assure his friend. The Host had enough to fret about battling his first cold while simultaneously being left utterly blind. He didn’t need to worry about Dr. Iplier on top of it, though the Doctor had a feeling that his words made little difference.

The Host knew the Doctor was lying for his sake, and he made a move to stand to check on him, but Dr. Iplier placed a hand on his shoulder to keep him still. “Sit tight for a second, I’ll be right back.” The Host paused, the weight of the Doctor’s hand heavy on his shoulder, before nodding his head in compliance. 

Dr. Iplier closed the door behind him quietly, not wanting to startle his friend or disturb anyone else at this hour, before slinking down the hall in the direction of his room.

_He’ll feel a lot better if he changes out of those dingy clothes, though I probably shouldn’t go rifling through his room without permission. I’m sure I’ve got something that will fit him._ He snorted at the thought. _What am I thinking? We all wear the same size._

The Host had nearly nodded off in his seat listening to the quiet drone of the florescent lights, before his ears picked up the sounds of Dr. Iplier padding down the hall and nearing the room. 

“Here you go,” said the Doctor entering the room, “I brought you a change of clothes.” He laid the folded articles in the Hosts lap to let him feel the material. “I pulled them from my closet, I hope you don’t mind. I figured some soft flannel might make for an easier night’s rest, don’t you think?”

The Host rolled the fabric between his fingers, feeling out a cotton t-shirt and indeed a pair of flannel pajama pants, likely the same red plaid-patterned ones he would occasionally spot the Doctor in while he shuffled to the coffee pot in the wee hours of the morning. The Host made no attempt at a comment, simply nodded in thanks and set to unfolding the garments. 

“I’ll let you get changed then and you can meet me in the hall when you’re finished,” the Doctor smiled, and he exited quietly. 

The Host changed quickly, managing at least that much without his Sight, though his congested head left him still vaguely dizzy and forced him to catch his balance twice while changing his pants. Thankfully the Doctor had already left the room. He left his dirtied clothes in a pile in his chair as he simply couldn’t be bothered to fold them in the moment, and he stepped out into the hallway, feeling a tad bit better after his cleanup. The fresh clothes certainly added to the feeling, he admitted. 

“Hey those look great on you! You know I don’t think I’ve ever seen you wear pajamas before, do you even own any?” The Host turned towards him and set his mouth in a firm line. _Can we just get going please?_

Dr. Iplier chuckled at the reaction and decided to save his questions for another time. ”Alright fine. I’m going to drop you off in the living room, okay?” The Host gave him a curt nod, and he looped his arm in Host’s and guided him in the direction of the living room. Occasionally he would direct him whenever they met a turn or a doorway, but the Host complied well enough, if not the slightest bit delayed in his bleariness. Judging from the silence in the hallway, Dr. Iplier guessed that the egos previously occupying the space had all gone elsewhere. This worked out pretty well then. 

Upon entering the room he carefully sat the Host down on the far end of the couch and turned the tv on to give him something to listen to. Unfortunately whoever last used it hadn’t had the decency to change the volume before quitting their game, and the television roared to life as an insurance commercial blared through the speakers, causing both the ego’s to jolt. The Host turned sharply in the Doctor’s direction, brows furrowed in a clear glare that would surely be deadly without his bandages. Dr. Iplier fumbled with the remote, nearly dropping it in the shock, and apologized profusely while searching for the volume button. 

The few short seconds of the loud commercial still felt incredibly too long as even with the volume under control the Doctor could still feel his ears ringing from the sudden disruption. He quickly changed the channel to a nature documentary, figuring that would be soothing enough for the Host and give him plenty to listen to.

_“-- sticky pads of the red-eyed tree frog allow it to cling to the trees and branches of the Amazon. These nocturnal carnivores thrive in the forest canopy, and hunt for various insects using their long tongues…”_

The Host crossed his arms as he reclined back on the couch, and turned his head in he direction of Dr. Iplier and raised an eyebrow. _Really?_

“What? It’s relaxing,” defended the Doctor. “You stay here, I’ll be back in a second. I’m going to go get us some dinner.” The Host nodded and leaned his head over the back of the couch, his unseeing gaze towards the sky as he breathed in a sigh. He listened as the soft-spoken narrator described the dietary habits of tree frogs, before letting the sounds of the forest all bleed together in a blend of rain and the soft rustle of leaves. The noise droned on until it became nothing but a gentle buzz in the back of his mind, his thoughts mixing with the sounds enveloping him, and lulling him into a peaceful half-sleep. He only realized that he had begun to nod off when the shrill beeping of the microwave jerked him awake. 

A moment later Dr Iplier returned with two bowls of hot chicken noodle soup. How opportune that someone in the house had chosen this of all things. It was perfect cold weather food, and the perfect meal to knock out a cold. 

“Ready to eat?” He asked, setting the bowls down on the coffee table and plopping down next to the Host. “I brought us some chicken noodle soup. Just the right thing for a cold am I right?” he smiled. He placed a spoon in Host’s hand as he sat up and let him feel for the sides of the bowl, though he did watch him carefully to make sure he didn’t burn himself. Even if the Host was a grown man, Dr. Iplier couldn’t help but feel more protective than usual over his friend in his compromised state. “After dinner I’ll get you some medicine to help knock out that congestion, I’d just rather you put something on your stomach first.” The Host listened but didn’t feel the need to respond, so he took to gingerly sipping his soup.

The pair sat quietly, blowing on hot soup and listening to the peaceful sounds of the rainforest while the soothing narrations of its wildlife droned on in the background. Truly, neither of the egos minds were on the program at the time, but it helped to have some background noise as their minds drifted to other things.

Dr Iplier let his mind wander to his clinic and the supplies he would soon have to restock, what with being so busy lately. The thoughts of treatment options led into thoughts of his own head cold and a few remedies for his symptoms, and then finally to the Host. Despite knowing better, he couldn’t help but show concern for his friend, knowing yet not fully understanding his struggles. The Doctor couldn’t imagine how difficult it must be to be left completely blind, the world around you entirely black and being without a voice to reach out for help. He knew once the Host’s voice returned to him, so would his Sight, but for now it was only a matter of waiting, as he had nothing in his clinic to cure him overnight. Thoughts of tea with honey came to him with the idea that it might soothe the Host’s sore throat and speed his recovery. At the very least, the idea made Dr. Iplier feel warm inside. Tea with honey sounded pretty good right about now. 

The Host let his mind float through a gentle stream of thoughts, listening to the calming narrations of the rainforest on tv, and taking in the descriptions of the scenery to use as a reference for his future writing. His thoughts drifted to several writing projects he had in mind, tossing one idea around here and there before letting it go in favor for a different scene in a different story, and playing with ideas there instead before moving on again. His thoughts remained dull and clouded through his weary state, so each idea that came to him lacked clarity and impact. Even still the Host let them come and go as easily as drifting toy boats floating idly past him at sea, his hand in the water lazily brushing by them in acknowledgment, but not stopping to investigate any one in great detail. He envisioned happy endings, then horrific beginnings, then quiet middles, and landed in the present. This must be his quiet middle, the thought broke through before he even realized it. Yet he didn’t have time to argue it.

Suddenly the Host’s spoon fell from his fingers and clattered into his half empty bowl. 

“Host? Whats-”

The Host was frozen in place, lips parted and shuddering, gazelessly staring straight through the table. His fingers threaded themselves in his hair, pulling futility against an unspeakable pain. The Doctor knew instantly what was happening.

The Host was having a vision.

The sudden pang behind his eyes always alerted the Host to an oncoming vision, sometimes it gradually built like a kind of pressure, and sometimes it hit him like a truck. This was one of those times, and he could only guess it had to do with his full day of silence. The visions in his mind were shrouded in a grey haze of shifting blurry forms, and the words tried to tear themselves from his throat in an effort to See what was to come. His lips moved rapidly, yet soundlessly, only vague, hoarse syllables spilled forth as the vision forced itself into existence. The Host mouthed the words uncontrollably over and over, until an image ripped its way through the fog in his head. He could hardly make it out, but just faintly he could see himself and Dr. Iplier. And they were…

Oh my.

It seemed like was a vision of the next morning, if he had to guess, and some mystical force told him he was correct. What he briefly made out in his split second of vision shifting like a mad current, was he and Dr. Iplier sleeping together on the couch. 

Spooning.

A deep blush began to burn his cheeks immediately and the Host could do nothing as he helplessly waited for the vision to end, only hoping in the back of his mind that the doctor wasn’t able to make out his broken words. Thankfully the vision ended almost as quickly as it began, and the Host’s mind suddenly went blank as it flipped the switch back to his normal thoughts. He gasped for breath, unaware he had been holding it, and suddenly felt the weight of his muscles go limp as they released from his tense shaking. Dr Iplier was at his side, holding his shoulders steady through the spasms. The Host gulped down a few deep breaths and moved to shift himself out of the Doctors grasp, nodding feverishly to assure him he was alright. 

“Are you okay? Are you sure?” asked the concerned doctor.

The Host only continued to nod quickly through his ragged breaths that were just beginning to even out. He wiped a streak of sweat from his brow and leaned over to rest his hand on his forehead, letting his hair fall into his face.

“Do you want me to get you some water?”

More nodding followed, so the Doctor did as asked. 

Dr. Iplier knew what had happened, but, he didn’t really _know_ what just happened. He knew the Host had seen a vision, these occurred fairly regularly, but not always so intensely. He saw the Host double over, muttering…something. He could only barely make out the sharpest of syllables through his hoarse whispers. Was that… cut? Couch? Dot? Doctor Iplier was getting nothing from this. But seeing his friend recoiling from the shock of coming down from his Sight, he felt it best not to ask right now. Normally if the Host saw anything detrimental to anyone in the building, he would quickly let them know. Yet as the doctor returned with a glass of cold water to find his friend still sitting, shaking off the last of his shivers and evening out his breath, Dr. Iplier supposed that whatever it was could wait until morning.

The Host took the water graciously and gulped the drink down as if he hadn’t had any in days.

“Do you want me to get you more?” asked the Doctor, but the Host only shook his head and handed him the glass and his half-empty bowl of soup. The Doctor asked no more questions and took them both into the kitchen, grabbing his own finished bowl of soup along the way. He dropped them into the sink, they could be cleaned tomorrow, and made a quick detour to his bedroom to grab a few things. 

When the Host heard Dr. Iplier return a few minutes later, the pillow and throw blanket he brought with him had been expected, as he had seen them in his vision. 

“I thought these might make you a little more comfortable,” the Doctor said as he flipped off the lights when entering the room. “You can rest in here for the night, that way if you need anything you can just wake me up. I’ll be in the recliner right over there if you need me, and please don’t worry about waking me, it’s really no trouble at all.” As he spoke he laid the blanket across the Host’s lap and gave him the pillow to place where he wanted. “Now I’ll be right back, I’m going to get you some medicine for your congestion.”

The Host stayed put and listened to the Doctors steps fade away, all the while wondering how exactly they would end up in such a compromising position come morning. Obviously the Doctor would not end up sleeping in the recliner as he planned, which could only mean that he stays on the couch with the Host all night. The Host felt no need to lay down right away as he would have to sit up to take the medicine anyway. Not to mention that despite his exhausted state, both from his illness and from the severity of his vision, the Host didn’t feel like going to sleep any time soon, rather he wanted to wind down from the sudden whiplash, even if his only reprieve was listening to a nature documentary. If that’s what he had, then so be it, but he was in no hurry to get back to his subconscious thoughts just yet.

_“...anaconda maneuvers poorly on land, but excels in the water, thanks to its eyes and nostrils sitting high on the head, allowing it to remain nearly completely submerged when hunting for prey. Watch as this one sets its sights upon this wild capybara that stopped for a drink. The anaconda lies in wait, only hoping the capybara comes close enough to strike. Any sudden movements, and his dinner heads for the hills…”_

“Got it,” Dr. Iplier said as he returned, “This should clear up some of the congestion in your head and chest. I brought you some tea to wash it down with, the honey in it will coat your throat and help with that cough.” He smiled as he set the tea on the coffee table and placed two pills in the Host’s hand. 

The Host nodded and swallowed them easily, and sipped the tea slowly as he settled into the blanket. 

The Doctor sat beside him carefully as to not spill the tea in his own hands, and turned his attention to the documentary as he made himself comfortable. He shifted the unused portion of the throw blanket over his lap and sighed deeply, and the Host couldn’t help but notice that if his vision came to light, then this would likely be what began tomorrow morning’s events. The Doctor would get comfortable relaxing next to the Host to the sounds of nature, and before he knew it they would both be asleep, leaving their awkward position to occur at some point in the night. 

_I suppose it can’t be helped,_ he thought as he set down his cup and leaned his head back against the back of the couch once again, listening to the Doctor occasionally hum in fascination over an interesting animal fact. His visions didn’t always come true, and for all he knew this may just end up being one of many possible future scenarios. Visions of what may come were just as prevalent as things that were sure to come, and the Host didn’t have much of a way to differentiate the two other than a gut feeling.

 _Of all potential futures, it could be worse,_ thought the Host, _though it would definitely lead to an awkward awakening come morning._ The Host could only imagine the Doctor’s red face when he awoke so close to the Host, probably stuttering out an apology and leaping off of the couch in shock. Who knows what the other egos would think if they were seen in such a state, no doubt it would only lead to endless teasing and torment. He could imagine the Googles making some smartass remarks about their compatibility being unlikely, yet how opposites attract after all. Then there was Bim who would undoubtedly make some awful references to a dating game show, the Host could practically hear him saying _‘So you went with Bachelor number 1 eh? Smart choice my friend, smart choice. You get both the looks, and the brains! ’._ Wilford on the other hand was always less subtle in his teasing. Knowing him, he would sooner walk into the room, see them in their compromising state, and shout _“HA! GAAAY!”_ before snapping a photo and ducking out. 

The thought betrayed his stoic demeanor and brought a bemused, yet slightly embarrassed smile to the Host as he imagined the chaos that would potentially be the following morning. Through it all though, the Host’s mind kept flickering back to his vision of he and the Doctor on the sofa together, the Doctor wrapped around his form, his arm draped over the Host protectively. He could almost feel the warmth between them, the sense of peace of the quiet early morning, just silently waking together right before it would all go to shit by laughing egos. As terrible as it was to say, the Host didn’t mind the vision so much. Something about it brought a comforting feeling to him, as well as a hint of excitement, though the Host chose not to reflect on his own feelings too much, in fear of where those thoughts may lead him. 

“What are you grinning about?” the Host heard the Doctor ask next to him, a smile present in his voice. The Host snapped back to the present and sat upright to face the Doctor. In the background he could still hear the television droning on about how animal carcasses decompose in the humidity of the rainforest, and knew he couldn’t blame his smile on the program. Instead he just smiled and shook his head as if to say _‘forget about it’,_ and pointed a finger at the recliner.

“Huh? Oh, yeah I’ll move over there in just a - *yaaaaaawwwn* - in a minute…if you want to lay down…” said Dr. Iplier sleepily as he settled deeper into the couch. The Host exhaled briefly through his nose, a ghost of a laugh, and went back to his daydreaming. He envisioned the different ways he could wake up next to the Doctor. In most versions the other egos weren’t around to spoil the moment. In most versions the Doctor was still horribly flustered. In one version Wilford snuck by them with a one-night stand of his own and gave him a look that said _‘I won’t tell if you won’t.’_ And the Host continued imagining even more scenarios, all awkward or absurd, until eventually he drifted off to sleep.

\---

The next morning the Host awoke far too warm and far too cramped for his liking. It took a moment for his thoughts to catch up to him, but he was soon able to recall the events of last night. He didn’t remember falling asleep, or even laying down to do so, but judging by the weight of an arm on his side and the slow, easy breaths on his face, it was clear that his vision had come to light. The Host, in his half-awake state, didn’t know what to immediately think. A part of him was happily surprised at this outcome, and more than willing to relax back into the sofa cushions and fall asleep wrapped in the warmth of his friend. A more logical side of him thought it may be better to wake his friend early and spare him the shame of discovering their position for himself. Another part of him that was growing with every waking moment was strongly considering waking the Doctor simply to get him to move. The Host was incredibly uncomfortable shoved into the couch like this with a whole other body almost on top of him at this point. Both of his arms were thoroughly asleep and his legs were on the way there. This definitely wasn’t what he had in mind in his daydreams last night, but then again daydreams didn’t exactly work out that way. 

Before he could decide on a course of action, the Host was snapped out of his thoughts by a noise in the kitchen, a ceramic mug shattering on the floor, something wet being splashed, and finally sounds of quiet, distorted cursing. The sound startled the Doctor awake, who jumped at the noise and then again at seeing the Host’s face only inches in front of his own nose. The two laid there frozen for a moment, a slight blush against their cheeks. But before they could move, the ego in the kitchen stormed into the living room with little effort to be quiet and flicked on the light, causing the Doctor to fall into the floor in surprise. 

A ringing aura filled the room as Darkiplier stopped in the doorway when he caught sight of the two egos doing...whatever it was they were doing. He glanced in their direction for only a moment, more out of confusion than anything, before going back to what he was doing. Dr. Iplier opened his mouth to utter an explanation, but Dark simply held up his hand.

“I don’t care. I don’t know what it is you two are doing, but right now I couldn’t give less of a shit. I’m just looking for the damn broom.” He stalked across the room, the ringing following him and growing in volume as he passed by the sofa. He stopped by the closet at the end of the room, rifled through it until he found the broom, dustpan, and mop, and then stormed back into the kitchen without a second glance.

Dr. Iplier didn’t know what to make of the situation he had just woken up to. A quick glance out the window at the just-rising sun told him that it was still quite early, maybe only 6:30-ish. He didn’t know what Dark was doing this early, he didn’t know how he had ended up on the couch with the Host, he was just entirely confused. 

The Doctor gave a slight stretch left and right to ease the aching in his back before standing up fully to face the Host. He hoped to get some answers from his friend, but when he turned to face him he noticed the Host was mumbling something under his breath. 

“Host! Are you- Ack!” Dr. Iplier clutched his throat as his voice broke, his vocal chords protesting along with his sore throat. The Doctor’s voice came out screechy and hoarse, not too dissimilar of the Host’s yesterday.

“Is the Doctor alright?” the Host asked quietly, just above a whisper as he stood from the couch himself.

“Yeah, I- ugh, I think I’m the one losing my voice now,” he smiled, despite his discomfort.

“Would you like the Host to make you some tea?” The Host asked as he stood from the couch.

“No no, really Host, it’s fine-” 

“The Host insists, Doctor,” he mumbled, stepping closer to his friend. “You were there for me when I was in need, now let me be here for you.”

The Doctor felt the sincerity of the statement wash over him and was immediately at ease as though he were wrapped in a comforting embrace. The Host rarely ever spoke in the first person, only in the fewest tender moments of vulnerability when he regaled darker, more personal stories for the Doctor’s ears alone. 

The Doctor smiled warmly and replaced the Host’s seat on the couch.

“Thank you, Host.”

The Host gave a small smile in return before retreating into the kitchen. As he padded softly onto the linoleum he found Dark mopping up the last of the spilled coffee in front of the coffee pot. The monochromatic ego glared in the Host’s direction, as if expecting some smart comment, but the Host ignored him. The Host would have been more likely, anyway, to comment on Dark’s choice of early morning attire, as his pajamas were only a printed fleece version of his normal black suit and tie, complete with printed on cuff links. Though he could faintly make out the pattern through his Sight, he did his best to not mention it directly through his quiet narrations, noting Dark’s already sour mood. He didn’t exactly feel like being the second casualty of the morning, if you counted the broken mug.

Dark left quickly after making a new cup of coffee, while the Host gathered two mugs from the cabinet and put on pot of water to boil. Now that he was able to narrate again, albeit very subtly, he gained the ease of moving about once again. He noticed the early hour as his voice described to him the still dim sky out the window, and he decided that must be the reason they were greeted by only one ego this morning. Thankfully, the least teasing of the bunch. However he knew that if needed, Dark could easily bring up the awkward sight as blackmail, causing a stir throughout all of Ego Headquarters. Then again, the Host now had the info of Dark’s choice in pj’s, so there was always that.

The Host smirked to himself, thinking about the ridiculousness that was his daily life here, when before too long the water came to a boil. He prepared the cups with tea and honey just as Dr. Iplier had done, and he walked carefully back into the living room with drinks in hand.

Dr. Iplier’s eyes lit up at the sight of the drinks and took his cup gratefully. 

“Thanks a lot.” he whispered hoarsely. 

The Host sat next to him and they sipped their drinks in silence, the television in sleep mode from inactivity. God only knows where the remote ended up, but neither one of the egos were concerned with looking for it at the moment. The peace and quiet was welcomed. This moment of stillness to just exist in the present without thinking about the day ahead was welcomed. The growing sight of the bottom of the cup as the tea steadily disappeared with each sip was enough to hold Dr. Iplier’s attention for now, but once it was finally gone, so too were his wistful, present thoughts.

“I’ll have to open the clinic late,” he began quietly. The Host kept his sightless gaze forward, but he did pause his sipping. “By this time I’m normally preparing to open up shop, but with getting a late start like this, I’ll have to make a few calls and reschedule some things.”

The Doctor sounded tired, the Host could tell in his voice, and it wasn’t just the cold catching up to him. His Sight told him that his friend was looking rough, his skin pale with dark circles under his eyes. His hair was frayed from sleeping scrunched up on the couch, and his sighs carried a heavy weight on their breath. 

“The Doctor should consider taking the day off, he is unwell and isn’t in a state to be caring for others today.”

“I appreciate your concern Host, but I already have several appointments booked today.”

“Then the Doctor should cancel them,” he replied curtly.

“I-”

“Dr. Iplier works tirelessly every day to ensure the health and safety of others, as well as all of those at Ego Headquarters. The Host believes that he can afford a few days to do the same for himself.”

The Doctor stayed quiet for a moment, but then furrowed his brows in thought. He wrung his hands as he chose his next words, not wanting to offend his friend but unwilling to budge just yet.

“I have people that depend on me, Host. I can’t let them down or ask each one of them to change their plans just because I’m a little under the weather. I can work through it, it’s not a big deal.”

“Maybe so, but asking your patients to see another doctor for their own seasonal illnesses is also not a big deal. Dr. Iplier is not the only doctor in the surrounding area, and if the Host understands correctly, most of Dr. Iplier’s latest patients have been coming in for common colds and flus, nothing life threatening.”

The Doctor looked down at his feet as he listened to the Host, still feeling miserable both inside and out, but recognizing the Host’s point. Dr. Iplier’s entire being was caring for others and ensuring safety, but because of this he was used to feeling like the sole bearer of responsibility at times. Especially in this household where someone was always one step away from making a life-threatening decision. This was another thing that drew him into having such peaceful relations with the Host, he was one of the only Egos he didn’t feel like he had to babysit at each waking moment. 

“One cannot adequately care for others if one’s own health is in decline,” continued the Host. “Not to mention, the Host has noticed the toll that this year’s busy season has taken on the Doctor.”

Dr. Iplier let out a heavy sigh.

“It has….it’s been rough, Host,” he rasped. He cleared his throat but it did nothing for his voice, so he continued. “The patients, you’re right, most of them just have coughs or a mild case of the flu, it’s just a matter of giving them the right medications and sending them on their way. But….It’s just been….really, really busy lately. I think this is the busiest my clinic has ever been, and I’ve been struggling to keep up. I have so many supplies I need to restock, prescriptions that I need to refill, and my schedule is all over the place with people making and canceling appointments left and right and it’s just…doing it alone is just becoming really difficult right now.”

The Doctor felt the weight of a hand on his shoulder.

“The Host understands the Doctor’s struggles. He also understands that undergoing this stress while simultaneously battling perhaps his first real illness himself is doing nothing to make matters any better. Perhaps taking some time off to rest as well as get the clinic in order is what’s needed right now.”

Dr Iplier looked at his friend and shook his head.

“I hate it when you start to sound like me.” A smile began to spread to his cheeks. “But you might be right, maybe some time off would get me back on track.”

The Host returned the smile.

“The Host is sure that Dr. Iplier’s patients will forgive him.”

“Even if they don’t,” said the Doctor, smile still apparent in his voice as he stood from the couch to stretch his back again, “I could deal with a few less patients for a while. Might just make things easier on me, right?” He let out another sigh, but lighter and less burdened this time. “I guess I’ve got a few calls to make. I’ll be back.”

“Take your time, Doctor.”

“And you, on the other hand,” he said, stopping in the doorway, “should rest your voice today. That’s the only way it’s going to get better. That means no unnecessary narrations.” His voice cracked halfway through his statement and ended on a wheeze as if to emphasize his point. The Host just smirked and shook his head.

“Doctor’s orders?” he grinned.

“Doctor’s orders.” Iplier grinned back, and he turned and left for his clinic.

The Host’s self-satisfied smile refused to leave his lips for several minutes after the Doctor’s departure, but he couldn’t help but feel a tinge of pride for talking his friend into taking a break. The Doctor could be just as bull-headed as he was brilliant at times, but even he had to admit to himself that his current lifestyle was wearing him thin. Within a week or two the man would undoubtedly be back on his feet and buzzing around the office again, scolding reckless egos and muttering his to-do list to himself. But until then, he needed to rest. And the Host, forced to be torn from his own work from his own healing voice, was happy for the company. 

He returned to his tea, now noticeably cooler but still drinkable, and waited patiently for the Doctor to return. Upon finishing his drink he took both of their empty cups to the kitchen sink and set them next to last night’s bowls. The thought to clean them crossed his mind, but he decided he couldn’t be bothered. He was still feeling pretty miserable, even with his restored voice, and he figured that since some other ego always got around to washing them anyway, the same could be said for today. He turned off the unoccupied coffee pot on his way back to his seat in the living room, and thinking upon the Doctor’s words to him, decided that using his narrations to find the tv remote would be considered “unnecessary.” The Host decided to make a challenge out of finding the remote blindly while he waited, but it was pretty short lived as the remote was only shoved between the couch cushions. He set it to the side as he figured the Doctor could decide if he wanted to watch something when he got back, so the Host made himself comfortable beneath the throw blanket and rested.

He was unsure of how much time had passed, but eventually he heard the Doctor’s quiet footsteps in the kitchen. He heard them pause for a moment, as if he stopped to contemplate something, before continuing into the living room. 

“Alright, I’ve officially given myself some vacation time,” he said as he came to sit next to the Host. “It’s weird though,” he said scooting under the blanket, “I thought Dark was in the kitchen, I heard his aura before I came into the living room, but I didn’t see him anywhere.”

The Host simply shrugged, having no answers, and handed the Doctor the remote.

The Doctor gave it no second thought and switched his focus to finding a feel-good movie on tv. What a challenge that would be, as both he and the Host had different definitions of a ‘feel-good’ story, but Iplier was up for the challenge.

\---  
An hour later Bim and Oliver stampeded through the halls of Ego headquarters, racing to be the first to the living room to continue their game tournament from last night. Whoever got there first got the good controller and the privilege of being player one. Their thundering footsteps shook the walls as they shoved each other back and forth in the hallway, but as they crossed the kitchen and neared the doorway into the living room, they stopped dead in their tracks. The unmistakable aura of Darkiplier rang in their ears, and though they were confused to briefly see two egos asleep on the couch, they thought better of interrupting whatever was going on. If Dark was around, they didn’t want to be.

“Later?” asked Bim, looking apprehensively at the android.

“Yeah, sure,” nodded Oliver, and they went their separate ways. 

\---

The knocking on Dark’s door to the tune of “shave and a haircut” could only mean the visit of one bold ego in particular. An ego he didn’t have time to invite in, as said ego had already made the decision himself.

“Oh Darky~”

Dark rubbed his temple. He was running on too little sleep to deal with this right now. 

“What do you want, Wilford?” he said, hardly lifting his gaze from the stack of paperwork on the desk before him.

“I just had the greatest idea for our next meeting,” slurred the pink ego with a dramatic wave of his hands. “You see it came to me in a dream, and-” he paused. Dark finally looked up at him, since a pause in Wilford’s usual string of nonsensical blathering was a rare thing to find. Wilford looked at Dark, then looked around the room, then twisted his pinky finger around in his ear for a moment.

“Say, where’d your ring go?”

“My what?” Dark deadpanned.

“Ya know,” Wilford said, “the ringing and buzzing noise that we always hear around you! Your aura or whatever you call it? It’s quite irritating, really, glad you finally decided to get rid of it, it’s probably for the best-”

“I didn’t lose my aura, Wil,” Dark seethed, already thoroughly finished with this conversation. “It’s just…on standby at the moment….”

_Dark recalled to himself the events of this morning, after dropping his first cup of coffee and being forced to make another, he stalked back to his office only to realize his cup was full of horrid tasting off-brand decaf. Today was not a decaf kind of day. He cursed himself for not paying more attention, but begrudgingly made his way back to the kitchen for a cup of espresso, when he heard voices coming from the living room. Evidently the Host and the Doctor were still there after being awoken from their little slumber party, though Dark didn’t particularly care._

_“The Doctor should consider taking the day off, he is unwell and isn’t in a state to be caring for others today.”_

_“I appreciate your concern Host, but I already have several appointments booked today.”_

_“Then the Doctor should cancel them.”_

_The hushed tones of the two egos could barely be heard, but Dark couldn’t help but be intrigued by the conversation. From the sounds of it, Dr. Iplier could hardly speak. Something must have happened but Dark wasn’t about to ask what. Not right now, at least. The concerns of the other egos were no concern of his until it began to affect his plans, and all the egos at headquarters knew to steer clear of that. But still…_

_“...the Host has noticed the toll that this year’s busy season has taken on the Doctor.”_

_“It has…it’s been rough, Host.”_

_It sounded like Dr. Iplier was becoming swamped at work lately. Who wasn’t, this time of year? Dark knew that much for himself. Even so, he couldn’t afford to have two of his more useful pawns down for too long. It would leave them all too vulnerable…_

_As the conversation in the other room came to a close, Dark exited the kitchen discreetly, leaving his aura behind. The conglomeration of dark matter slunk silently to its post like a loyal guard dog, curling and folding around the barrier to the living room, and sure to frighten away any ego who attempts to enter. Dark would leave his aura behind for the day to ensure the egos get some peace and quiet, even if he couldn’t be spared the same._

Dark was brought back to the present by Wilford waving a hand in front of his face.

“Helloooo~ Earth to Darkiplieerrrr~”

Dark clutched Wilford’s wrist and twisted it harshly, earning a scowl from the ego before releasing it. He really didn’t want to have to deal with this today, but he knew his obnoxious equal would refuse to leave until he was heard. With a resigning sigh, Dark gestured to the seat before him.

“Tell me this idea of yours.”

**Author's Note:**

> I'm so happy to post this!!! I've been working on this on and off since September and wanted to get it out before the end of December. Just barely made it! I haven't written, much less finished, a fanfiction in years, and it feels good to have one completed! This summer I fell head over heels in love with Ego fics and especially the headcannons of a_nonny_moose. The Host is also my favorite ego, it's just a shame there's not a lot of content of him ;w; Also I only intended for this to be a 1k-2k word quickfic, but of course it got away from me.
> 
> So uh yeah this piece was all over the place, and anytime it headed in a fluffy direction my brain made a U-turn into something funny and awkward. Just like in real life. TTwTT; It could have been fluffier but that may have been too out of character, so I'm happy with the way it turned out! I wrote this for entirely self-indulgent reasons, but I'm sure others will get a kick out of it too!


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